


The Hunt Through the Shire

by Uvatha_the_Horseman



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uvatha_the_Horseman/pseuds/Uvatha_the_Horseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nazgul enter the Shire and fan out to search for the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - The River Isen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamûl struggles with his fear of running water.

Chapter 1 - The River Isen  
Rohan, Sept 18

 

Fear of Water

“Khamûl, let’s go.”

Angmar called to him from the opposite bank. The others had already forded the River, and were ready to go on. 

Khamûl stared at the flowing water of the River Isen. The water looked evil. In the music of the current, he could hear the river’s voice. 

I can suck you under. I can drown you. 

And when they pull you out weeks from now, your body will be hideous, bloated and white, with empty eye sockets where the crabs have been at you. Khamûl had crossed small streams before. He could do this.

It was like walking a thin plank over a ten-foot drop. If you had the right attitude, it was no different than walking along a line on the ground. Arms out for balance, heel to toe, heel to toe. Focus on the far side, and don’t look down. Because if he looked down, he froze. And it was very hard to get unfrozen. 

He sat motionless in the saddle, staring at the running water, unable to move. 

“Khamûl, it’s less than a foot deep. You’re not going to drown.” said Angmar.

Khamûl didn’t move.

“Would it help if you learned how to swim?” asked Angmar.

“I can swim.” said Khamûl, slightly offended.

Khamûl tried to kick his horse forward, but his feet wouldn’t obey him. His mouth was dry, and however he breathed, it left him light-headed. 

“I suppose you need help?” Angmar asked, exasperated.

He turned his horse around and grasped Kestrel’s bridle. Khamûl closed his eyes and clutched the edge of the saddle. The horses broke into a trot as they went down the bank, and entered the water at a canter. 

Khamûl head the roaring of the current, felt the splashing kicked up by the horses’ hooves. They crossed the ford in ten or twelve long strides. 

Finally, he felt Kestrel scrambling up the opposite bank and onto the flat grassland beyond. He slid out of the saddle, fell to his hands and knees, and was violently ill.

“You do know we’ll have to cross it again on the way home, don’t you?” said Angmar.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angmar receives a message from Sauron, who is not happy with the progress of the search, or with him.

Chapter 2 - The Messenger  
Fields of Celebrant in Rohan, Sep 6th

 

An Emissary from Mordor

They watched as a black speck on the horizon grew gradually larger. 

“Is that a horseman?” asked Hoarmurath.

“We’re in Rohan. Of course it’s a horseman. What were you expecting, a stone troll?” said Indur. 

When the figure drew closer, Khamûl saw he was clothed in black and rode a black horse. Khamûl saw the metalwork of his horse’s harness was the same as their own, which marked him as a messenger from Mordor. Khamûl relaxed. He noticed Angmar did, too.

They’d expected to meet messengers regularly, but this was the first one they’d seen since mid-July, when Angmar and those who accompanied him from from Minas Morgul received their horses and robes. For that matter, they hadn’t received any reports from the spies Angmar recruited in Rohan. Angmar was beginning to be annoyed with them. 

The rider reined in a short distance away from them, swaying in the saddle. His face was battered, and he was bleeding from a cut on the lip. 

“I have a message for the Witch King of Angmar”, the messenger said, his eye moving from one of them to another. Khamûl suspected he couldn’t tell them apart. To the living, they all looked alike. Angmar stood up in the stirrups. “I am Lord Angmar.” 

“I have something for you.” the messenger said. He pulled out a heavy purse and handed it to him. Angmar opened it and poured gold coins into his palm. “This will be helpful. Most of our information is purchased.”

 

A Message from the Dark Lord

“Oh, and there’s something else.” The messenger handed him a leather case. Angmar opened it and pulled out a folded parchment. The outer layer was decorated with a heraldic device, the Lidless Eye painted in red and black ink. Angmar checked the tapes and examined the seals before breaking them.

Angmar unfolded the letter and read for several minutes, but made no comment. A muscle twitched in his jaw. When he finished, he folded the letter and put it away. That’s odd, thought Khamûl. Normally Angmar would have read the message and then passed it on to Khamûl. As Second Captain of Nazgûl, Khamûl was entitled to see all communications from their Master, even though they were addressed to Angmar.

 

Reporting Back

Angmar turned back to the messenger. “Please tell the Dark Lord we’ve been searching the Gladden Fields since Midsummer, and found the deserted villages of the Stoors. They’re uninhabited, and none who live there now remember them. Now we’re searching downstream, in Rohan.”

The whole time Angmar and the messenger were talking, Khamûl was staring at the man’s injuries. As soon as they concluded their official business, Khamûl asked him, “What happened to you?”

“I was attacked by outlaws in broad daylight. Rohan has become a dangerous place.” the messenger said. 

 

They Tried To Cut My Throat

“I went to meet one of our agents and collect his report. When I arrived at the campsite where we planned to meet, I found him lying on the ground, his eyes wide and staring, with blood soaking into the ground under him.

“His belongings had been ransacked. I searched his body as well as his saddlebags. It’s likely he had confidential letters and papers on him at one time, but when I found him, his purse and all his papers were gone.

“Then the hair rose on the back of my neck. I decided to get out of there. I swung into the saddle and started to ride away, but one of them jumped from a boulder as I rode by and knocked me off my horse. Another seized the reins, while a third grabbed me by the hair and pulled back my head and unsheathed his dagger.

“I was terrified. It’s not unusual for robbers to attack a traveler, but they were going to slit my throat. They didn’t even cover their faces. That’s bad. It means they weren’t worried I was going to identify them. And they had very distinctive faces. They were Goblin Men.” said the messenger.

“If they had Goblin blood, they may have been cast out of their villages and forced to fend for themselves, to rob travelers or starve.” said Angmar.

“But why they had to kill the ones they rob, I don’t know. It’s a mark of their viciousness.” said the messenger. 

“I lived only because my satchel was protected by enchantments. One of them tried to open it, a mistake on his part. While the others were distracted, I pulled out a morgul blade and stabbed the nearest one. The others ran away.”

“Now I’m concerned about the agents who were supposed to meet me, but never showed up. If it were just one, I wouldn’t give it a second thought. But when it’s two or three, I wonder if the outlaws got them.” said Angmar. 

 

New Orders

After the messenger left, Angmar addressed the group. “We’re to go to Isengard as quickly as possible. The White Wizard can tell us where the Shire is. It’s also possible that he has the Ring. We’re to observe him and find out.” 

Later, Khamûl saw Angmar pull the letter from the folder and read it again. He noticed Khamûl watching him, and shoved it back into its folder. 

Close to midnight, they stopped to rest for a few hours.

“You aren’t eating.” said Khamûl. It occurred to him that Angmar hadn’t eaten anything when they stopped at noon, either.

“I’m not hungry.” said Angmar.

They lay down on the ground, rolled up in their cloaks. Khamûl dozed off but woke during the night. Angmar was awake and restless.

“What’s wrong? You’re upset. You’re not eating or sleeping.” said Khamûl.

“He’s never talked to me like that before. I’ve fallen out of favor.”

“I doubt it.”

“You have no idea what he said to me.” said Angmar.


	3. Chapter 3 - The White Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nine speak to the White Wizard, who enjoys messing with them.

Chapter 3 - The White Wizard  
Isengard, Sept 18

 

Confronting Saruman

“If I had it, you would bow down and call me Lord.”

All nine of them were on horseback in the Circle of Isen, looking up at the White Wizard. He spoke to them from a low balcony in the Tower of Orthanc. 

“Show me your faces. I like to know who I’m talking to.”

Although invisible to mortal eyes, the Nazgûl could see each other, and so could Wizards.

Angmar pushed his hood back. He wore Númenorian clothes, with a steel crown on his head. The others followed suit. Under their black wrappings, they looked very different from each other. Khamûl and Indur wore the bright colors of the East, their eyes rimmed with kohl. Ren wore his hair in braids, and Hoarmurath dressed in leather and furs.

“Where is the Shire?” Angmar asked evenly.

“I don’t know where the Shire is, but Gandalf the Grey does. He just left here, for Edoras. If you hurry, you can catch him.”

He made a gesture of dismissal.

“I’m in regular communication with your Master. I will tell him you were here.”

He spoke directly to Khamûl, even though Angmar was right beside him. 

“Oh, and Khamûl, I understand congratulations are in order for your promotion. How does it feel to be Chief of the Nazgûl?”

“Excuse me?” said Angmar.

“Oh, come on. Even an outsider like me knows Khamûl’s the favorite. 

“Sauron’s never kept you close to him. When he’s at Dol Guldur, you’re at Carn Dûm. When he’s at Barad-dûr, you’re at Minas Morgul. And the one time you were at Barad-dûr, he was in Númenor. Wherever he is, you’re always somewhere else.

“On the other hand, he spent almost the whole Third Age at Dol Guldur. All that time, Khamûl was with him. It’s only natural they’re close.”

Khamûl could hear Angmar grinding his teeth.

Angmar had never been sidelined. He was given his own fortresses, his own realm. And when their Master was arrested in Umbar, Sauron somehow managed to palm the Ring to Angmar before being forced onto a ship bound for Númenor. Angmar took it back to Barad-dûr on a chain around his neck, and never once tried it on. 

Now I would have put the tip of my little finger in, just one time, just to see what it was like, thought Khamûl. I think any of us would have.

The White Wizard’s self-serving monologue was winding down. Khamûl came back to the present.

“We’re done here. Let’s find the Grey Wizard.” Angmar said, shaking the reins.

That means just one thing, Khamûl thought. We’re crossing the Isen again.

 

Seeking Gandalf

They retraced the path that brought them to Isengard. 

“You know he’s just messing with you. For whatever reason, he wants to create dissent in our ranks.” said Khamûl.

Angmar rode in silence, his eyes straight ahead.

“Look, you’re the highest ranking of all the captains in Mordor. The Lieutenant of Barad-dûr is second, and I’m third. There’s no way I’d be promoted over your head.”

“Khamûl’s the favorite, Khamûl is perfect, Khamûl can do no wrong.” Indur chanted.

Adûnaphel smacked him. She said, “As for never getting in trouble, do you remember what happened after Khamûl let the Grey Wizard get into Dol Guldur? I was afraid that after Sauron got done with him, there wouldn’t be enough left to bury.” 

“What happens when we catch the Grey Wizard? He’ll know who we are. Why would he give us directions?” said Khamûl.

“There are nine of us, and only one of him.” said Angmar.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Servants of Saruman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nazgûl encounter Grima going to Edoras and later, the squint-eyed Southron on his way to see Lotho Sackville-Baggins in the Shire.

Chapter 4 - The Servants of Saruman  
Rohan, Sept 19

 

Worm Tongue

But before they caught up with him, they overtook a traveler making his way to Edoras. They questioned him and learned he was the chief of Saruman’s servants. He knew most of what went on in Isengard. More important, he’d overheard talk between the White and the Grey Wizards.

They pressed him hard. He lay on the ground, terrified, and told them all he knew. 

They learned several things. First, the White Wizard lied to them when he told them he didn’t know where the Shire was. His servant told them Saruman had regular business dealings there, and while he’d never been there himself, he knew where it was and how to get there.

They also learned the White Wizard didn’t know where the Ring was. His servant overheard him pressing the Grey Wizard for information, but didn’t learn anything.

The Witch King pressed him hard, and he finally yielded up his deepest secret of all. The White Wizard used the Palantir to talk to the Dark Lord. But since the Witch King was sometimes in the room with their Master when he used the Ithil stone, he already knew about it.

When they could get no more out of him, he wept and begged for his life.

“Shall I kill him for you?” Uvatha asked helpfully, pulling out a dagger.

“Leave him be. He won’t talk.” said Angmar.

They left him on the ground, sobbing but unhurt. 

As they drew close to the ford, there was grumbling in the ranks. This would be the third time they crossed the Isen in two days. Except for the three Númenorians, who were seafaring people, most of the Nazgûl had trouble crossing running water. Of all of them, Khamûl feared it the most. 

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, thought Khamûl. 

 

The Squint Eyed Stranger

Once they all reached the other bank, Angmar ordered them to split up into pairs. He thought the large group of nine horsemen would attract attention. Khamûl rode with Adûnaphel, Dwar with Ren, Hoarmurath with Akhorahil, and Angmar rode with the swiftest pair, Uvatha and Indur. 

After a few hours, Khamûl and Adûnaphel caught up with Angmar and his group. Angmar was bent over another traveler who was lying prostrate on the ground, begging them not to hurt him. Uvatha emptied his satchel on the ground.

“These are maps of the Shire.” said Uvatha. He handed one to Angmar. Angmar studied it for a minute, and slapped his forehead.

“I know the Shire. It’s near the Witch Realm of Angmar. In the battle of Fornost, the forces of Cardolan were supported by halfling archers. I didn’t make the connection until now.”

“There’s something else here, lists of names. Here’s a Sackville-Baggins.” said Khamûl.

“Those are people Sharkey does business with. Sharkey buys leaf from him.” the man said, shaking.

Angmar gripped his throat and pulled him right up to his face. In a whispered hiss, he said, “From now on, you are in the service of Mordor. You will do whatever I bid you. And if you tell anyone else, I will find out, and I will kill you. Do you understand?” 

He nodded mutely, far more times than necessary to say yes.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Bridge at Tharbad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nine pass through Tharbad, the site of Sauron's greatest defeat.

Chapter 5 - The Bridge at Tharbad  
Eriador, 20 Sept

The Fens

They rode along the Great South Road through treeless grasslands. The road was no longer maintained, but they could still tell where it was. It was seldom used and had fallen into disrepair, but the grassy path was flat and level, and they made good speed for some time.

As they got close to the fens, the path became muddy and wet in places. The air was still, for the most part, but when there was a breeze, it carried the scent of fetid pools and rotting vegetation. They had entered the Fenlands. The only good thing you could say about stagnant water was that it wasn’t running water, but that didn’t improve the smell. 

Further on, the path became level and dry, even though the grassland on either side of it had pools of standing water, green and thick with reeds. A mile into the fens, the road was easily three feet above the surface of the stagnant water. The sounds of birds and frogs filled the air. The mosquitoes were fierce.

 

The Ruined City of Tharbad

The road left the fens and climbed sharply uphill, taking them toward the ruins of Tharbad, a fortified city high on the banks of the River Gwathló. Tharbad was built to control the Great South Road connecting the capital of Arnor with the capital of Gondor, but it had also been a major seaport on the River Gwathló. 

The road passed through a gap in the city walls, now partially collapsed and overgrown with wildflowers and small shrubs. Inside the walls, Khamûl could recognize foundations of buildings, but except for an occasional wall or a chimney, no structures remained standing.

 

The River Gwathló

When the road left the city on the opposite side, they could see the River Gwathló spread out before them. Its surface glittered in the sun. A breeze from the river chilled Khamûl’s face. It smelled cold and clean, with a hint of the sea. 

The road descended to the edge of the river. At one time, a great bridge connected this bank with the other side, but now, all that remained were stone pylons with piles of debris between them. 

It was a dangerous ford during most of the year, but it was the height of summer, and the river was low. They would be able to walk across on stones normally underwater, without getting their feet wet.

Angmar dismounted and stepped onto the first stone, leading Twilight by the reigns. Khamûl followed, leading Kestrel. He kept his eyes on the stones, solid and dry.

The opposite bank was also a fenland. The line of the causeway cut a line straight through the marshy lowlands. Beyond, there was a treeless landscape, flat and featureless. The road snaked through the tall grasses, leading northward toward the Sarn Ford, the southernmost entrance into the Shire.

 

The Site of His Worst Defeat

Angmar looked across the river, lost in thought.

“It happened here.” he said.

What happened here? Khamûl wondered.

“After our Master forged the Ring, he conquered almost all of Arda. But within a year, Gil-galad defeated him at Sarn Ford and drove him back to Tharbad, where the Númenorian fleet was waiting for him. His army was completely destroyed, and he barely escaped himself. His power was broken here, and he’s never gotten it back.”

Wasn’t the captain of the Númenorian fleet a member of your family? Khamûl thought unkindly. But that was a hundred years before Angmar was born. It wasn’t his fault.

“This stretch of road is where our Master went from being Lord of the Earth to being utterly ruined.” said Angmar. “The route we travel today is thick with the ghosts of the slain, and the bitter memories of his fall from glory to destruction. And that whole time, Sauron’s power was greater than it is now. He had the Ring, but he still lost.” said Angmar.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Sarn Ford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nine confront the rangers guarding the bridge at the Sarn Ford, entrance to the Shire.

Chapter 6 - The Sarn Ford  
The Shire, 22 Sept

 

Rangers of the North

They came to a fork in the road. To the right, the Great South Road went all the way to Annúminas, capital of Arnor. They took the left branch, the Shire Road to the Sarn Ford and into the Shire. 

By late afternoon, they reached the Sarn Ford over the Brandywine River. Khamûl relaxed when he saw the ancient stone bridge over the water. He had no quarrel with moving water if he could cross it dryshod over a bridge.

He looked again, and noticed a group of men blocking the entrance to the bridge. They weren’t halflings, they were men as tall as himself. They wore the clothing of Rangers, so he assumed they would be disciplined fighters, and well armed.

The Witch King drew his sword and approached them. 

“Step aside.” he commanded.

One of the Rangers unsheathed his own sword and stepped forward to meet him. Khamûl heard the clang as their blades met. But it wasn’t a serious confrontation. They were just testing each other. 

An arrow whizzed overhead. Khamûl saw several more Rangers take out their bows and notch arrows in them.

“Fall Back! Take cover!” Angmar commanded.

They retreated out of arrow range. An arrow landed on the ground near Khamûl’s feet, but at this distance, it was spent, and had no power left in it.

Khamûl worried that Angmar, who was well within range on the bridge and distracted by his duel with the Ranger, would be struck by arrows. 

Angmar shrugged out of his cloak and let it fall to the ground. Khamûl knew the Rangers couldn’t see him without it. Angmar crouched down and moved slowly so his footsteps wouldn’t crunch in the gravel, and rejoined the others safely.

The afternoon shadows lengthened. The sun went down, and Khamûl could feel his own power increasing. Once full darkness had fallen, the Witch King gave the signal. With loud cries, they rushed the Rangers and killed several of them in the first assault. The others held the line and fought back. But after a hard skirmish, their leader fell. They broke ranks and ran southeast toward the Greenway.

“Khamûl, take your group and search the Shire. The rest of you come with me.” Angmar said. “No wait. Dwar and Ren, you go with Khamûl too.” 

Angmar swung into the saddle and kicked Twilight to a gallop.

“After them!” he shouted.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nazgul enter the Shire and fan out.

Chapter 7 - The Shire  
South Farthing, 23 Sept, morning

 

Fanning Out

Khamûl studied the maps and list of names. “There are a number of Baggins listed here. Let’s visit as many as possible today.” he said.

“Would it be better if we waited until after dark?” asked Ren.

“Normally yes, but we don’t have time. I don’t know how long we can move around unimpeded. The Witch King drove off the Rangers, but they may come back. Or someone else may raise the alarm.

“If the Bearer flees to an Elvish stronghold, he’ll either go east to Imladris or west to Lindon. That means we need to watch the East Road where it leaves the Shire, at Michel Delving and the Brandywine Bridge. 

“Dwar and Ren, continue along the Shire Road to the crossroads at Waymeet. You’ll split up there. Dwar, you take the East Road to Michel Delving, and catch the Bearer if he goes toward Lindon. While you’re in Michel Delving, check the Mathom House.” said Khamûl. 

“The what?” asked Dwar.

“The Mathom House. It’s a museum. A magical object could have ended up there. Ren, from Waymeet, continue north into the Northfarthing and knock on doors of farmhouses. There are several Baggins up that way. Here’s the list.

“Hoarmurath, follow the causeway through the Marish to the East Road. Watch the Brandywine Bridge. Adûnaphel, stay with me.” said Khamûl. 

Khamûl watched the others ride away. He turned to Adûnaphel.

“The White Wizard does business with a Sackville-Baggins. Sackville is nearby, so we’ll start there. We’ll tell him we’re allied with Saruman, to make things go more smoothly.

“We won’t threaten them, or search the house by force. If it’s on the premises, we’ll know. We may have to offer them gold for information, though.” He felt his pockets. 

“Except that Angmar has all our gold.”


	8. Chapter 8 - The Sackville-Bagginses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamûl figures out that the Ring left the Shire seventeen years ago, on the day of Bilbo's birthday party. He considers what to do next.

Chapter 8 - The Sackville-Bagginses  
23 Sept, late morning

 

Letters Of Introduction

“You’ve just come from seeing the White Wizard? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Come in, come in.” 

Those were the magic words. The most important contact on his list, Lotho Sackville-Baggins, opened the door and let them in.

They were here to find out if Lotho was the Baggins who visited the Misty Mountains fifty years ago. And if he wasn’t the Baggins they were looking for, he probably knew who was. They needed to get him talking and tell him everything he knew. The trick was, they couldn’t do anything to spook him and make him clam up.

 

Nursing Grudges

“... I should have inherited the lot, but then he went and left everything to a distant cousin. A well-appointed house, the silver, the wine cellar, the furniture. Everything.” Lotho was getting himself worked up as he talked.

“He was rich. He came back from his adventures in the Misty Mountains with a great treasure.”

Khamûl went rigid, listening. He and Adûnaphel exchanged a look.

“What kind of treasure?” Khamûl asked.

“Chests of gold, enough to fill up every cellar and pantry in the house. They say he spent the last of it on that huge party he gave, right before he vanished.”  
“What do you mean, vanished?” 

“Into thin air.” said Lotho.

“Who else saw it happen?” 

“Everybody in the Shire, I should think, and some from Buckland. And Gandalf the Wizard, of course. He was there to do the fireworks. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard this story before. I had almost the exact same conversation with another of Saruman’s agents a few years ago.”

“I haven’t. Can you tell me the names of some other people who were there? Close relatives, or friends who knew him well? May I write them down?” Khamûl asked.

 

South Paw

Lotho pushed a sheet of paper and an inkwell across the desk. Khamûl picked up a pen and wrote down names, addresses, and details of the stories Lotho had told him. He held his hand curled to avoid smearing the ink, which also let him see what he’d just written.

Khamûl had pretty handwriting, very like his Master’s. He paused for a moment to admire it, and then looked up at Lotho.

“What?” Lotho was looking at him with alarm. “That ain’t right. You’re using the wrong hand. It’s unnatural.”

Lotho became wary, and try as he might, Khamûl couldn’t get any more information from him.

 

17 Years Too Late

Khamûl left Sackville, disappointed.

“At least we know more than we did.” said Adûnaphel.

“That’s true. We know that, in the same year we were driven from Dol Guldur, Lotho’s cousin Baggins of Bag End journeyed through the Misty Mountains. He returned with chests of gold from a dragon’s hoard, and the ability to become invisible. Then, seventeen years ago, he left rather suddenly to see the Misty Mountains again, and vanished from all knowledge.” said Khamûl.

“So it was in the Shire at Bag End until seventeen years ago. We were so close.” said Adûnaphel.

“It doesn’t take seventeen years to reach the Misty Mountains from here.” said Khamûl. And halflings don’t live to be as old as he would be by now. Do you think we should search for his burial site, on the off-chance it might have been buried with him?” 

“But what if he went to one of the three Elvish strongholds, Lindon, Imladris, or Lothlorien? And what if he’s buried there? The Elves wouldn’t let us get anywhere close to the gravesite.” asked Adûnaphel.

“If it’s in one of them, we need to find out which one. Then we hit it with everything we have. That would mean calling in every marker our Master has, including favors owed to him by Balrogs and Dragons. Or we kidnap the child of a great Elven Lord and ransom him in exchange for it.” said Khamûl. 

“So what now?” asked Adûnaphel. 

“I would have liked to talk to Baggins’ heir, who doubtless knew more than the distant relatives like Lotho, but he moved away to Crickhollow this morning.”

“Where’s that?” asked Adûnaphel.

“I’ve no idea. It’s not on any of these maps.

“I’d like to see Bag End for myself. It’s empty now, so there won’t be much to see, unless the presence of the Ring still lingers there. But seventeen years later, it’s not likely. 

“The neighbors might know something, though. I expect the best thing I could do is talk to the neighbors.” said Khamûl.

Having a plan made him feel more optimistic.

“Let’s ride north to the East Road, to the Three Farthing Stone. If you go east and take up a position between the East and the Stock roads, and watch them both, I’ll go west and knock on doors in Hobbiton.” he said.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Gaffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamul arrives at Bag End half a day too late.

Chapter 9 - The Gaffer  
Bagshot Row, Sept 23, evening

 

An Empty House

Khamûl trudged down the hill, dejected. 

This morning, he learned that Baggins had left the Shire seventeen years before. No one knew where he went, except possibly his heir. Khamûl hoped to question him and learn more.

Lotho gave him a rough idea where to find the house, but as he got close, he had to knock on doors to ask directions. 

At the side of the drive leading up to the manor house, there was a lane with a row of cottages. He knocked on the first door. The old man who answered told him Baggins’ heir, also called Baggins, left for Buckland that morning with a wagon filled with baggage and furniture.

He was half a day too late. If they hadn’t been delayed by the Rangers, he might have gotten here in time to ask him about his uncle. 

Khamûl’s shoulders sagged. All of a sudden, he was so tired he could barely move. The fatigue of the day, and the day before, hit him all at once.

They’d ridden hard up the Greenway. Then in late afternoon, they’d run into the Rangers on the bridge and skirmished until dawn. Today, he’d ridden up and down the East Farthing and spoken to a dozen people. He always found it exhausting to talk to people he didn’t know, and today, most of them had slammed the door in his face or set the dogs on him. 

Khamûl looked up the hill. He considered searching the empty house, but he was too tired. Anyway, there was no chance it was still there. 

He looked around for a place to spend the night. He rode along a farm lane, breathing in the scents of tilled earth and farm animals. He would have preferred to sleep in the woods, but all the land nearby was cultivated in crops, so he found an abandoned barn instead. It was a good hiding place, because he could keep Kestrel out of sight. 

He untacked Kestrel and hung up the saddle and bridle. Then he climbed into the hayloft, where there was enough straw to sleep in comfortably. He took some waybread from his satchel, his first meal of the day, but before he finished unwrapping it he had fallen asleep.


	10. Chapter 10 - The Stock Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamûl senses the presence of the Ring, and goes after it.

Chapter 10 - The Stock Road  
Sept 24

 

The Route To Bucklebury

The sun wasn’t yet up. Khamûl halted Kestrel where the Bywater road joined the East Road. He pulled out the map and unfolded it on Kestrel’s neck. 

The old man told him Baggins was going to Buckland by way of Bucklebury. Buckland wasn’t on the Southron’s map, and neither was Crickhollow, but Bucklebury was. 

The most direct route to Bucklebury was the Stock Road. That’s probably the way Baggins went. If Khamûl retraced his steps on the East Road, he could catch the Stock Road and ride the whole length of it. He put the map away and tapped Kestrel with his heels.

 

The Presence Of The Ring

“Khamûl.” 

Inside his head, Khamûl heard his Master’s voice calling his name, as clearly as if they were in the same room. More to the point, he felt his Master’s presence.

Was he being summoned from far away? Not likely. At half this distance, his Master would communicate by writing a letter. Had his Master come here to join the search, now that they’d found the Shire? Even less likely.

And then he knew. It was the Ring. It was calling him. It wanted to be found. And it was very, very close.

Khamûl was a hunter, a natural predator. He could track his prey, follow a scent, and run it to ground. He was persistent. And he had inexhaustible patience. Khamûl was going to stalk the Ring, and he was going to find it.

His attention narrowed to this one goal. Nothing else existed for him. 

Then it was gone. He was tired, and he wanted this thing very badly. He wondered if he’d imagined it. Bright sunlight often confused him. He shook his head to clear it.

He turned Kestrel into the woods. If he could get out of the sunlight, he wouldn’t feel so washed out. Pine, resinous sap. The needles silenced Kestrel’s hoof beats. Once he was in the shade, he tried to find it again. Nothing. 

He waited in the shadows of the trees until nightfall, when his mind cleared and his senses became sharp again.

 

Noldor Elves

Khamûl stopped in his tracks. There it was again! 

He slid out of the saddle and moved through the woods in the dimness of twilight, leading Kestrel by the reins. 

And froze. Noldor. He climbed into the saddle and escaped into the woods on the other side of the road.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Bucklebury Ferry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamûl searches for the village of Crickhollow in Buckland, believing they are in the Shire near the Marish.

Chapter 11 - The Bucklebury Ferry  
The Marish, Sept 25

Nazgûl’s Call

Khamûl sensed that the Ring was nearby and moving east, away from him, but he couldn’t tell where it was. He climbed up through the trees, until he reached the highest point of the ridge. There were only small shrubs up here, even though the woods below were so thick he couldn’t see the Stock Road. 

From there, he had an excellent view of the East Road, although the bright sunlight made it hard for him to see, reducing his world to a grey mist. But like all Nazgûl, he could see his own kind clearly. 

Off in the distance, south of Whitfurrows where the Stock Road drew close to the East Road, he saw a black speck. Adûnaphel. She had taken up a position there, where she could watch both roads at once. He called to her.

Come here. I need you.

She answered him, I’m coming.

 

Knocking on Farmhouse Doors

Adûnaphel rode beside him in a lane between cultivated fields. They approached an isolated farmhouse. Dogs barked. Adûnaphel stayed in the lane while Khamûl knocked on the door.

Minutes later, Khamûl swung Kestrel’s head around in frustration and spurred him to a gallop. He was a mile down the lane before he slowed down. No sense in taking out his bad mood on the horse. 

“The farmer knows something, but he won’t say, not even for gold.” But Khamûl let it go. He had no sense that the Ring had been here recently. 

 

Trying To Find Crickhollow

Khamûl rode along the lane until it reached the Causeway. He turned north and slowed Kestrel to a walk, watching and listening with all his senses. 

At one point he left the Causeway to explore a lane that led to the landing stage for a ferry. It appeared to be in good working order. At the moment, the boat was tied up on the opposite side. If the halflings showed up here, they wouldn’t be able to cross unless they could swim. 

He looked at the river, assessing how hard it would be to swim across. The river was at least a hundred feet wide, too deep to wade across. The current was swift, and at this time of year, the water would be cold, too. Angmar could probably do it, but Khamûl didn’t know anyone else who was as strong a swimmer.

He went back to the Causeway. Eventually he heard hoof beats, and Adûnaphel came into view.

“I sensed the Ring. I followed it on the Stock Road. I feel sure it’s nearby, but can’t quite locate it.” Khamûl told her.

Adûnaphel frowned. “Excuse me for being skeptical, but Lotho told us it left the Shire seventeen years ago. Perhaps you were mistaken about what you felt? Do you even know what it feels like? Have you ever been near it when it wasn’t on our Master’s hand?”

He hadn’t. In his experience, his Master had never taken it off.

“It’s here.” said Khamûl. 

“As far as I can tell, it’s in the possession of Baggins. Two sources told me he’s moving to Crickhollow. He’s expected to arrive there today. I sensed it twice along the Stock Road yesterday, and once this morning, where the wood gave way to farmland.

“What we need to do is find Crickhollow, which Sackville-Baggins described as a village in Buckland. Once we locate it, it shouldn’t be too hard to identify a house with someone moving in. Even if no one is willing to talk to us, a wagon full of household goods in the front yard should be pretty obvious. 

“The trouble is, Buckland isn’t on the Southron’s map. As far as I can tell, it’s the region along the Causeway from Stock to Rushey.

“I’ll ride up the Causeway toward the bridge and knock on doors in Bucklebury and Stock. You go down the Causeway and make inquiries in Rushey.

“What if he finds out we’re hunting him?” asked Adûnaphel.

“Then he may flee. We’ll have to watch all the major routes out of the Shire. 

“Hoarmurath is already watching the Brandywine Bridge. Go all the way to to the Sarn Ford, in case he’s headed south.”

He started to ride up the Causeway, then called over his shoulder.

“The ferry is a good landmark, one we can find easily. Let’s do one circuit and meet back here tonight.”

 

Five Minutes Too Late

Khamûl knocked on a dozen doors in Bucklebury and Stock that afternoon, but didn’t find Crickhollow. He hoped Adûnaphel had more luck in Rushey.

He rode to the northernmost point of the Causeway, where it met the East Road near the Brandywine Bridge.

Hoarmurath had been watching the bridge for two days. Khamûl considered sending Ren to relieve him after a day, but had decided against it. Ren had the attention span of a flea. 

“Hoarmurath, did you see a household move come from the west the first day you were here? It would have been late in the afternoon.”

“No, but I didn’t get here until after dark that first day. It was harder getting through the marshes than I thought.” 

“How about a group of Noldor, traveling east?” asked Khamûl.

“Yes, at midday today, but it was just Elves. There weren’t any halflings traveling with them.” said Hoarmurath.

Khamûl rode back down the causeway in the dark. He pulled up when he reached the ferry. Adûnaphel wasn’t there yet, so he settled in to wait for her. 

He’d only just arrived when he heard something. A splash, the creak of an oar. He dismounted and dropped to the ground. He crouched low and crept along the lane. 

The Ring! The lure of it drew him onto the landing stage, even though river water flowed beneath it. It was terrifying, but he managed by crawling on his hands and knees. 

It wasn’t here, but it had just been here. He looked across the water. It must be there, on the opposite bank. He tried to sense its presence on the other side of the water, but it was no use. Running water confused all of his senses, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

What to do next? Cross the river and find the landing stage on the opposite bank. Track the Ring from there.

He summoned the others by calling to them. Meet me at the Brandywine Bridge. Even at the far end of the Shire. Dwar and Ren should be able to hear his call. He swung into the saddle and kicked Kestrel to a gallop. Just as he turned onto the Causeway, Adûnaphel rode up from the south. 

They rode hard to the Brandywine Bridge, and reached it just after midnight. The others were already waiting there for them. Khamûl pulled up at the base of the bridge, sweating and out of breath. 

“Dwar, Ren, find the Witch King. Tell him I sensed the Ring in the Shire. It crossed the river tonight. It’s moving east.” he said.

They mounted their horses and galloped across the bridge, down the East Road in the direction of the Greenway.

“Hoarmurath, keep watching the bridge. Adûnaphel and I will cross the river and find the landing stage on the opposite bank.”

With that, he spurred Kestrel into a gallop and thundered across the stone bridge, Adûnaphel right behind him.


	12. Chapter 12 - The House at Crickhollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamûl finds the house at Crickhollow, and lead an attack on it.

Chapter 12 - The House at Crickhollow  
Buckland, Sept 25, midnight

 

So Close

Khamûl and Adûnaphel rode through Buckland all night, the river on their right hand, fields and farmland on their left. But before they came to the ferry, the road ended in a wooden gate, closed and locked. A stone wall about four feet in height extended from the gate on either side. 

They rode along the wall toward the river, but found the wall went right into the water. It would have been possible to get around it by swimming, but Khamûl wasn’t very happy about that. They retraced their steps and went back to the gate. 

Khamûl pounded with the pommel of his dagger. He waited a while, and pounded again. A lantern was lit. They heard the squeak of hinges, and footsteps, and then heard,

“Who goes there?”

“Travelers. We’re going to Crickhollow.” said Khamûl. 

“Not at this hour ye ain’t. Wait until daylight, like respectable folk.” 

Khamûl sang an enchantment. The lock clicked, and the gate swung open. 

“Where is Crickhollow?” Khamûl asked him. The man stared at him blankly.

Well, on the plus side, at least he won’t remember we were here. Khamûl thought.

They followed the river and found the landing stage. The boat was still tied up to it. Khamûl knelt on the dock, waiting, his mind open to whatever there was to feel.

“It was here.”

He followed the steps up to the lane leading into town, trying to sense it again. Nothing. He went back down to the dock. It was still there, but fainter than before. 

 

Seeing News

They stood in the street outside The Riverman’s Inn, the only tavern in Bucklebury. 

“We’ve been knocking on doors all day, but inns are where one goes to hear the news. Let’s go in.” Adûnaphel said.

“And you think a pair of undead ringwraiths isn’t going to attract attention?” asked Khamûl.

Adûnaphel went in, with Khamûl trailing behind her. 

“Might you have a room for myself and my husband?” she asked the stout woman at the counter. Adunaphel’s face was veiled and hidden. The woman regarded her with suspicion.

“Why do you cover your face?”

“My beauty is so great, I just have to hide it.” Adûnaphel laughed. She had a pretty laugh, Khamûl thought.

“No, really. When I was a little girl, I wandered too close to the fire, and the hem of my dress went up in a sheet of flames. I lived, but it cost me my face.”

“You poor lamb! Yet you were still able to marry?” asked the older woman.

“Tom’s family lived next door to us. We’ve known each other since the cradle. He sees me for what I am, not what I look like.” said Adûnaphel.

“He keeps his face covered, too?”

“He’s a Ranger. They do that. And what with my situation, I can hardly tell him no, can I?” she said. 

Khamûl paid for their room and board, and they went into the Inn’s common room. It smelled of spilled beer, pipe smoke, and the aromas of cooking. Khamûl hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

They sat in a shadowed corner in the back of the tavern, listening to the conversations swirling around them. 

“Did you hear about the attack on the Rangers?”

“Aye, they say it was them Rivermen. They’re barely tolerated as it is, and only then because they trade with us.”

They heard about weddings and babies, and cows escaped through broken fences, but not what they cared about, news of a new neighbor moving into the village.

 

Finding the House at Crickhollow

Two days of eavesdropping on other people’s conversations finally paid off. 

By this time, Khamûl knew that Buckland included both sides of the river. 

He and Adûnaphel made inquiries in Bucklebury, Newbury, and Standelf before they figured out that Crickhollow was the little hamlet between Brandy Hall and the Old Forest. They’d passed through it several times without guessing the small cluster of houses was a place with a name. 

Someone told them where to find the house in Crickhollow where new neighbors had just moved in. Khamûl went to look, and found the house described. Several wagons sat in the front yard, mostly unpacked. 

He crept up to the window and thought he sensed it. He circled the house to make sure, then sprinted across the yard.

“It’s here. Fetch Hoarmurath.” he commanded Adûnaphel.

She nodded. Without a word, she raced across the road, untied Cinder, and galloped off. 

 

Poised To Strike

“You should have done that earlier.” Khamûl hissed at Hoarmurath.

They had been standing motionless for four or five hours, watching the house at Crickhollow. Khamûl knew the house was occupied. Lamps were lit inside the house when it got dark, and the curtain was twitched back from time to time. 

“All right then, go. But be quick about it.” said Khamûl.

Adûnaphel had returned with Hoarmurath that afternoon. The three of them staked out the house and waited. 

They attacked during the darkest part of the night. Khamûl pounded on the door.

“Open in the name of Mordor!”

When he got no answer, he threw his shoulder against the door. Nothing happened. Like all wraiths, he weighed less than he did in life, and he had less physical strength. He sang a spell, and the lock burst. He stormed the house with Adûnaphel and Hoarmurath right behind him. 

Inside the house, he could feel the presence of the Ring. The house was furnished, but there was no one inside. The back door stood open. 

“He must have fled out the back when we came in the front. After him!”

Then a bell began to toll. The alarm had been raised. Horns were sounded, and answered by others far off in the distance. He heard men shouting, and barking dogs. 

“We have to get out.”

They sprinted to the copse of trees where they’d tied up the horses, vaulted into the saddle, and slapped the reins. They rode hard toward the gate, but found it well lit with torches and guarded by a row of burly men. 

From the outside, the wall was about four feet high, but from the inside, it was only three. 

Khamûl rode straight at the men who stood between him and the wall he meant to jump. They scattered, or threw themselves to the ground. Kestrel sailed over the wall, landing on the other side with barely a stumble, the others right behind him. 

They would ride to Andrath, where the Witch King had his camp. Khamûl would tell him they almost had it, but it got away. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.


	13. Chapter 13 - The Camp at Andrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attacks on Bree and Crickhollow were less than successful. Names were taken, butt was kicked.

Chapter 13 - The Camp at Andrath  
Sept 30

 

The Barrow Downs

They reached the East Road without incident, followed it towards Bree, and took the Greenway south.

The sun was high in the sky as they approached the town of Andrath, south of Bree along the Greenway.

“Look at the haze hanging over those fields. That’s not natural.” observed Hoarmurath.

“Those are the Barrow Downs. The Witch King sent the Barrow Wights here when he ruled the Witch Realm of Angmar. His old realm is nearby, north of here.” said Khamûl.

Adûnaphel didn’t answer. Although she hadn’t complained, Khamûl could tell she was exhausted. Cinder showed signs of going lame, as well. If that happened, they couldn’t get her a new mount. Unless they raised them themselves, horses and dogs wouldn’t go anywhere near the undead.

Angmar said he was going to set up his camp and base of operations across the road from the Barrow Downs. Khamûl smelled wood smoke and horses, and soon after, saw a thin ribbon of smoke from their campfire. 

He spoke a counter-charm to get through the enchantments placed around the camp, and the three of them passed through. He led Kestrel by the reins and approached the campsite on foot.

 

Rejoining the Others

He found Angmar, Akhorahil, Indur, and Uvatha around the fire, eating their noonday meal from tin plates. He took Kestrel to the thicket where they kept the horses, where he loosened the girth and exchanged the bridle for a halter. Even from a distance, he could hear the murmur of voices from around the campfire.

“... so I said to him, ‘There’s someone at the gate looking for you. He said his name is Tulkas.’ His face when chalk white, and even from two or three feet away, I could hear his heart beating.” said Indur.

“He has one?” asked Uvatha. They laughed.

“Actually, Indur went too far. Sauron ordered his arrest, then went off to change his clothes. Indur spent the rest of the day in a cell. In the dungeons of Barad-dûr, no less, not in some cushy place like Dol Guldur or Minas Morgul.” said Uvatha.

 

Khamûl’s Failings

Khamûl was afraid to report to the Witch King. He was deeply aware of his own failures. He’d chased the Ring down the Stock Road, but arrived at the ferry too late. Then he tracked the Ring to the house in Crickhollow, but again, when he got there, it had already gone.

The Witch King had already received his report about the first failure, but he didn’t know about the second. Khamûl had been tempted to send Hoarmurath ahead to tell Angmar, but Khamûl was the leader, and it was his role to deliver the bad news. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. 

“The Ring crossed the river over Bucklebury Ferry and headed for Buckland, which wasn’t on our maps. It took me two days to find the house. But when we attacked it last night, Baggins had already gone.”

“Unimportant. The Ring wasn’t there last night, it was in Bree.”

Khamûl went limp with relief. 

 

Dwar and Ren in Disgrace

Khamûl noticed Dwar and Ren were sitting on a log on the edge of the camp. They didn’t have plates. Nobody spoke. They both seemed tense.

“What’s going on?” Khamûl asked, indicating the two sitting by themselves. He looked at Dwar, but Dwar wouldn’t meet his eye.

“They’re in disgrace.” said Angmar. “They found the Ring in Bree yesterday. Then they botched the attack, and lost it again.” 

He jerked his head towards Dwar and Ren who sank deeper into their cloaks and tried to be invisible. (so to speak)

“The White Wizard’s servants in Bree saw someone vanish before their eyes, in the common room of the tavern during the evening meal. The entire town of Bree must have seen it.” said Angmar.

“That’s a common magician’s trick. It doesn’t mean anything.” said Khamûl. 

“These two and Uvatha all felt it when it happened. It was the Ring.”

“They sent Uvatha to tell me, but he met a Ranger on the road, and had a hard time getting past him. He didn’t get here until this morning. So before I could bring reinforcements, those two initiated an attack on their own, and botched it.”

“There was a Ranger in the Inn who …” began Ren.

“Did I give you leave to speak?” Angmar snapped. Ren lowered his eyes. 

“Do you even understand why I’m mad at you?”

“Because we attacked an empty room and murdered four feather bolsters.” mumbled Dwar, his eyes on the ground.

“No. You assumed the beds were empty because they’d already left. So you left too, and came here. You could have watched the Inn all night. You can sense the Ring. You should have tracked it. Now we don’t know where it is.”

“I can’t sense the Ring unless it’s being used. It’s not my fault.” muttered Dwar.

 

Speed is of the Essence

Angmar addressed the group. 

“The Bearer knows we’re hunting him. Also, as a result of our efforts, we’ve set off the alarm in two different towns, and now the Rangers are back. From this point on, we’ll have to abandon stealth for speed. 

“There’s something else you should know. If the Bearer is using the Ring, he can read our thoughts. It will make it that much harder to catch him.”

“If he’s using it, he could enslave us.” said Indur.

“No, he’d have to claim it first.” said Angmar.

“Can he do that?” asked Ren.

“It would be phenomenally hard. He’d have to wrest it away from our Master by force of will, and enslave him also. It’s not going to happen.” said Angmar.

“Khamûl, I was thinking about the Noldor you saw on the road. They must have been traveling to Imladris from the White Tower, which houses the west-looking Palantir.” said the Witch King. “Why didn’t the Bearer travel with them all the way to Imladris?” 

“Probably because Noldor keep to themselves. They don’t even mix with Teleri .” said Khamûl.

 

The Chase Is On

Angmar stood up and headed toward the horses. He tacked up Twilight while he spoke. The others followed suit.

“Khamûl, station yourself on Amon Sûl and watch the road. Bring some of the others with you, and send them further east. Take Hoarmurath and .. those two.” He indicated Dwar and Ren. 

“Akhorahil and Indur, go down the Greenway. Adûnaphel, stay here and watch the road. Uvatha, follow me up the Greenway toward Fornost. We’ll meet this evening at the crossroads near Bree.

“Khamûl, I’ll catch up with you at Amon Sûl in a few days.”

He put a foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

“Let’s go!”


	14. Chapter 14 - The Forsaken Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamûl's group travels east to Weathertop, and stops at the Forsaken Inn.

Chapter 14 - The Forsaken Inn  
Sept 30

 

How Could You Have Missed It

Khamûl swung into the saddle and led his group up the Greenway, heading north toward the East Road. It was pleasant to be traveling along at a jog, for once. The only sounds were the creak of the leather saddle, the jingle of the harness.

“What happened at Bree last night? Angmar said you felt it when it was used.” Khamûl said.

“I was on the East Road, coming toward Bree. It was, I don’t know how to describe it. Like a horse feels when the reins are yanked hard. My head snapped around, and I stopped in my tracks. And another thing, my ring felt heavy on my hand.” said Dwar. 

“Did you know what it was? I mean, before the White Wizard’s spies told you they saw it being used?”

“I knew instantly. I knew what it was, and where.” said Dwar. Ren nodded.

“When you went inside the Inn, why couldn’t you find it?”

“I don’t think I ever got close enough to sense it.” said Ren.

Khamûl could sense it from hundreds of feet away, just like he could hear and smell other things from further away than the others. 

He was the Sensitive One, just like Dwar was the Rustic One, Ren was the Fey One, and Hoarmurath was the Dependable One. And Angmar was the Favorite. Khamûl pushed the thought away. No need to be jealous.

 

Avoiding Bree

“Chief? If we go to the crossroads and turn east, it will take us right through the heart of Bree. Seeing as how we attacked the Inn last night, it’s probably not a good idea to go back there just now.” said Dwar.

He was right. The gates would be barred, and strangers seeking entrance would be scrutinized closely. Five thousand year old undead strangers armed to the teeth, even more so. 

Khamûl pulled out the map and unfolded it on Kestrel’s neck. 

“Let’s avoid Bree. If we ride cross country, we can catch the East Road just beyond it.” he said, folding the map and putting it away. 

They left the Greenway at the next farm lane. Soon cultivated fields gave way to grasslands, where there was no road but the trails of animals. 

 

A Derelict Structure

A few hours later, they were back on the Great East Road, safely beyond Bree. It was hours since they’d seen a tree, so there was no shade. 

It was a warm day, and the sun beat down on Khamûl’s black robes. Worse, he couldn’t think clearly in such bright sunlight. Sunlight affected him more than the others, which was annoying. 

A little after midday, they saw a derelict structure beside the road. Brambles grew right up against the sides of the building. A section of the roof had fallen in, with a small tree growing through it. 

“Look at that tavern sign! ‘The Forsaken Inn.’ If Indur weren’t behind us patrolling the Greenway, I’d think he got here before us and repainted it.” said Ren, laughing. 

Khamûl pulled up and dismounted. He didn’t really think the Bearer was hiding inside the ruined structure, but it was an excuse to get out of the sun for a little while.

“I’m going inside. Dwar and Ren, follow me at a safe distance. Hoarmurath, stay outside with the horses and watch the road.”

The front door was half off its hinges. He didn’t so much swing it open as lift it and set it aside. The smell of dust and black mold hit him the moment walked in.

He found himself in what must once have been the common room. It still had two or three tables, but they were filmed with enough dust to write in, and most of the chairs were damaged. The cobwebs didn’t surprise him, but the quantity of leaves that had blown in from outside was impressive.

Khamûl crossed the room cautiously, and looked behind the bar.

“WHAT D’YA THINK YER DOIN’?”

He just about jumped out of his skin. Dwar and Ren came running.

“Yer wants service, ring the bell.” said the proprietor.

Sure enough, there was a handbell on the counter, apparently put there for the purpose.

“I didn’t realize you were open .. this early in the day.” He caught himself just in time. No sense insulting the landlord, if he could help it. 

“Afraid to show yer face? You Rangers, so mysterious, you black-clad ones more than most.” said the innkeeper, sizing them up. “Will yer be taking yer midday meal with us?”

Khamûl looked at the others. They shrugged. Sure, why not?

 

Bad Food for High Prices

They picked a table by the window where they could see the road. As far as they could tell, it had been empty all day. 

The proprietor brought their food on plates that looked like they hadn’t been washed. The beer was flat, there was a spot of mold on the cheese, and the bread was rock hard. Khamûl thought the bread had a layer of dust on it, as well. But when he picked up the slip of paper with the addition, he recoiled in shock.

“What? This is twice what it costs anywhere else.”

“Well, we’re the last inn for hundreds of miles. When you leave us, you go into the wild. It’s us or nothing.”

Khamûl settled the bill.

They turned their backs to the bar and watched the road through the window. When the innkeeper left the room, Khamûl pulled the cloth covering off his face to eat, but left his riding gloves on. 

 

Passing for Rangers

“You know, if everybody assumes we’re Rangers, maybe we should dress like more like them. Get rid of these black robes and wear greens and browns instead. We’d draw less attention to ourselves.” said Dwar.

We could knock on doors and not have them slammed in our faces.” said Adûnaphel.

“Nobody thinks it’s strange if Rangers wears gloves and cover their faces. That’s just what they do.” said Dwar.

“You’re forgetting one thing. Let’s say you somehow acquired a Ranger’s clothes. How do you think they would look on you when you put them on?” asked Khamûl.

“Too big?” said Adûnaphel.

“Too invisible.” said Khamûl.

It was hard to remember, because they could see each other easily, but they were invisible to mortal eyes, and so was anything they wore, ate, or carried. Their black robes were enchanted to remain visible when they wore them, but an ordinary cloak would vanish.

“How hard is that to fix?” asked Dwar.

“It’s a harder spell than you or I could cast.” said Khamûl.

Dwar bent under the table. “Look what I just stepped on. It’s a mummified mouse.”

Khamûl smiled. He was already planning how to turn this into a funny story to tell Adûnaphel. Ten years after they were forced out of Dol Guldur, they returned to the fortress, which had stood empty all that time. He remembered, when he and Adûnaphel reclaimed it, how it had become home to cobwebs and leaves and damp, with the occasional animal carcass. What struck him as so funny was, this place was worse.

 

Money for Information

When the proprietor came by with another pitcher of beer, Khamûl asked him, “Have you seen anyone else come along the road today?”

“Yep.”

“What did you see?”

The proprietor was silent for so long, Khamûl thought he hadn’t heard. Then it dawned on him. He took out his purse and put a few coppers on the table. 

“I did see something, but my memory’s not so good.”

Khamûl added a silver shilling to the pile.

“Ah! Now I remember. About ten o’clock this morning, there were two of those ranger fellows on foot, going west. But I expect you know them. All you Rangers know each other.”

“Anyone else? Any halflings?” urged Khamûl.

“I’m trying to remember.”

Khamûl placed another silver coin beside the first one.

“Oh, right. I remember now. No, there were no halflings.”

Waste of money. Curse him.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Grey Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nazgul encounted Gandalf on Weathertop.

Chapter 15 - The Grey Wizard  
Weathertop, Oct 3

A Narrow Escape

Khamûl crouched between two rocks on the highest point of Amon Sûl, his cloak wrapped around him. He had a good view of the Great East Road, without being seen himself. The height of his perch increased the distance he could see, far beyond his ability to recognize blurs in the distance. Perhaps it would have been better to have someone with better than eyesight than his be their lookout. 

There was no sign of the three he’d sent east returning, but he didn’t expect them yet. But something was approaching from the west. He saw a large cloud of dust on the road. Horses could raise a cloud like that, so could a wagon. Soon he could make at least one horseman in front of the dust cloud, a black silhouette. He couldn’t tell whether it was a Nazgûl, a Ranger, or an ordinary traveler.

The figure turned off the road and headed for the trail that led to Amon Sûl. Khamûl felt sure the traveler knew he was there and was looking for him. Then it occurred to him, the traveler was climbing Amon Sûl for the same reason he was there, to see the road. Either way, he decided to move to a more secure location.

He left the bare crown of the hill, crouching low and moving carefully from boulder to thicket. When he reached the safety of the stunted trees, he found a depression in the earth with a thick growth of bushes around it and hid himself there. It looked like a Rangers’ campsite. Firewood was stacked near a fire pit that still smelled of smoke.

A branch snapped. 

He dashed into a thicket and hugged the ground. He opened his mouth, listening. He heard footsteps, and the rustle of clothing. 

He held his breath and counted to a hundred, then lifted his head. Boots, a staff, the hem of a grey cloak. Khamûl looked up. The Grey Wizard. The one who led the attack on Dol Guldur. 

Please don’t let him see me. 

He imagined a blinding bolt of white light, and then, the afterlife. Or worse, lying on the ground and hearing his own voice telling the Wizard everything he knew, betraying his Master. He knew there were enchantments he couldn’t withstand.

His heart pounded so hard he thought Wizard would hear it. Then he remembered that he was wearing one of the Great Rings. They had a powerful presence which the Wizard would be able to feel. The thought made his heart beat even harder.

The Wizard moved on. Khamûl moved further into the trees, shaky with relief. He considered his options. Perhaps he should track the Wizard to the peak of Amon Sûl and watch him from a safe distance. 

 

The Witch King of Angmar

A hand clamped over his mouth, and a strong arm wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms against his sides.

“Be silent.” a voice hissed. A familiar voice.

Khamûl relaxed. Angmar released him and made a sign for him to follow. The rest of his group was waiting a short distance away, Akhorahil, Adûnaphel, Indur, and Uvatha.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” said Khamûl. 

 

The Ringbearer

“We patrolled the Greenway the day you left for Amon Sûl, and gathered at the crossroads that night. When Uvatha and I arrived, The White Wizard’s spy in Bree was waiting for us. 

“He had information he was willing to trade for gold. He and the Southron saw the halfling turn invisible in the common room. More to the point, they saw the Bearer walk out of town the next morning, accompanied by a Ranger, heading east along the Great Road.

 

Crashing Through Bree

“I was just about to take off after him, when the others arrived. We spurred our mounts and rode as hard as we could to catch up with the Bearer and his Ranger guide, even though they had a twelve hour head start. At midnight, we rode down the gates of Bree and barreled through town.” said Angmar.

“This was at midnight? Wouldn’t they have left the road when it got dark, found some shelter, and been sound asleep by then?” asked Khamûl.

“I thought of that. I estimated how far they could have walked between midmorning and dusk, and was careful not to overshoot the mark.

 

The Grey Wizard

“We began riding east again in the morning, only more slowly, watching and listening to the bracken on either side where our prey might be hiding. If I hadn’t been listening so carefully, I’d never have heard it in time. Hoof beats. Coming up from behind, at a more furious pace than I’ve ever heard before. I sensed a being of Great power. The Grey Wizard was right behind us, and gaining fast. The thought possessed me that he’d somehow gained possession of the Ring.

“We left the road and hid ourselves in a thicket, barely in time, as it turned out. He didn’t detect our hiding place and shot right past us, close enough that I could tell he didn’t have it. But I guessed he knew who did, and was going to catch up with him.

“We stalked the Grey Wizard for two days in hopes he’d lead us to the Bearer. When he left the road and climbed Amon Sûl, my blood ran cold. I knew you were keeping watch up here, alone. That’s why we came up so quickly.” said Angmar.

“I know. I saw him.” said Khamûl. He felt cold just thinking about it. “I don’t think he knew I was here. He probably wanted a good view of the road to look for you, or the Bearer, or both.”

“I’m glad he didn’t find you alone. He could hurt you. But we outnumber him. Let’s take him out of the game.” said Angmar.

Khamûl thought of his previous encounter with the Grey Wizard. Lightning that struck a tower and knocked it into the courtyard. Fireballs that smashed the outer gates. His Master saying, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

“The Grey Wizard led the attack against Dol Guldur, sixty years ago. Our Master elected not to take him on.” said Khamûl.

“That attack was mounted by the entire White Council. And it happened when our Master was looking for an excuse to return to Mordor.” said Angmar. 

The others didn’t look convinced.

“It’s six against one. It’s just one wizard, not even the most powerful one on the White Council. We can do this. Let’s get into position, and at midnight, we’ll attack him.”

 

Wizard Battle

Khamûl blinked. The intense white flashes had blinded him, and his ears were still ringing. As his vision returned, he saw that the few stunted bushes on the peak of Amon Sûl were burning, and so were the dry grasses. The flames danced in the wind that always blew so hard up here.

The Grey Wizard fled down the hillside with four Nazgûl chasing him

“After him! He’ll lead us to the Bearer!”

Khamûl glanced back at Angmar, who was just standing there, watching them go.

“Let’s go. He’s getting away.” Khamûl urged.

Angmar put his hand on a stone pillar for support. His sword fell to the ground. 

“I’m hurt.” he said.

He sank to his knees, bent over in a fit of coughing. It sounded wrong, like something inside was torn or drowned. When he raised his head, there was blood on his mouth. 

“What happened?” Khamûl asked.

“I don’t know. I thought I was all right, but then I got so weak. My ears are ringing, and I can hardly see.”

Khamûl helped him to sit on the ground and lean against the pillar. He closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth. Then he bent over double, clutching at his midsection. Khamûl rushed over to him, but there was little he could do.

Khamûl wished Akhorahil was here. He was the only one of them who had any knowledge of healing, and he was off chasing the Grey Wizard.

Khamûl knew the ordinary field dressings every soldier knew. But even though he was a powerful sorcerer who could cast spells that wounded, he had no idea how to heal them.


	16. Chapter 16 - The Tower of the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tower of the Wind

Chapter 16 - The Tower of the Wind  
Weathertop, Oct 6, Midnight

 

I’m Afraid To Go Home

The Grey Wizard fled, with four of them in hot pursuit. Several days had passed, but Akhorahil, Adûnaphel, Indur, and Uvatha had not returned. 

“They’re probably fine, but I wish one of them would come back and report.” said Angmar.

Khamûl was worried about Adûnaphel. He reminded himself that she was with her uncle, Akhorahil, who was very protective of her. And both of them were with Uvatha, the most vicious of all the Nazgûl, and Indur, the second most vicious. She’d be fine.

Khamûl suspected the Grey Wizard hadn’t fled to escape, or to join the Bearer. He was deliberately drawing the others away. He might double back and return here, and Khamûl would have to face him alone. Angmar was healing, but he hadn’t mended yet.

Angmar didn’t like to be told, ‘Just concentrate on getting well.’ After the first few times, Khamûl decided he preferred to keep silent than have his head bitten off.

Khamûl saw Angmar pull out a letter out of an inner pocket of his tunic, read it, and replace it in its folder.

“You already know what it says. You don’t need keep reading it.” said Khamûl.

Angmar looked up, embarrassed. 

“Would you like me to look at it?”

Angmar handed it to him, then looked away. Khamûl unfolded the letter.

“This is very formal language. ‘The Lord of the Earth commands his servant, the Witch King of Angmar …’ Is this how he normally addresses you in a letter?”

“No. He usually writes, ‘M to A, greetings’ , and then dashes off an informal note written as though he were speaking to me.” 

That’s how one addresses a kinsman or a close friend, not one’s chief lieutenant, Khamûl thought with a pang of jealousy. 

He finished reading the letter, then folded it and handed it back.

“Whoa. That’s pretty bad.” said Khamûl.

“I’m afraid to go home.” Angmar said quietly. 

 

The Crown of the Hill

Khamûl was more worried about Angmar’s injuries than he let on, but within two or three days, Angmar was well enough to ride. Khamûl accompanied him on a short patrol of the East Road. 

They’d been out for only a short time when they met Dwar, Ren, and Hoarmurath coming toward them from the east. 

“Any luck?” asked Khamûl.

“We went as far as the Last Bridge. Nothing to report.” said Hoarmurath.

“Any sign of our people, or the Grey Wizard?”

“No trace.”

Khamûl froze. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something move. He looked up at the peak of Amon Sûl.

“What was that? Up there, on the crown of the hill.”

“I don’t see anything.”

Khamûl looked again. He was sure he had seen something.

 

Coming to Blows

They climbed the slopes of Amon Sûl to their campsite, and tethered the horses there. Dwar and Ren found seats by the fire.

“How about if you two sit off by yourselves. I’d rather not look at you.” said Angmar.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go patrol the base of the hill.” Ren got up and walked off.

One of the horses whinnied. Hoarmurath jumped up. “That was Stormy. I’d better check on him.” He headed off to the thicket where the horses were tethered.

“You know Chief, I’m really getting tired of this. I made a mistake. I said I was sorry. I let you punish me. Enough, already.” said Dwar.

“You don’t seem to understand how serious this is.” said Angmar.

“Oh yeah? I get that you’re afraid of losing your place as our Master’s pet.” said Dwar.

Angmar got to his feet and took a step toward him, but Dwar didn’t back down.

“You don’t get how much your lording it over the rest of us is pissing me off. All of us are his servants and thralls. All of us address him as ‘my Lord’. But not you. You call him by his first name. You think you’re his equal.” said Dwar.

“I never said that.” said Angmar, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“But you’re not his equal. You just know what to kiss. I bet that’s how you won his favor. On your knees.”

Angmar reached Dwar in two long strides. Dwar threw up an arm to defend himself, but not fast enough. With one blow, Angmar sent him sprawling on the ground. An instant later, he was on top of him. 

Hoarmurath came running over. 

“Look at you two, fighting among yourselves like a bunch of orcs. I’m glad the enemy can’t see you, they’d be laughing their heads off!”

He and Khamûl grabbed Angmar by the arms and pulled him off. Angmar struggled against them, breathing hard. 

Dwar lay on the ground looking stunned, blood gushing from his lip. It dripped down his chin and onto his jerkin. 

Khamûl and Hoarmurath frog-marched Angmar to the edge of the campsite and made him sit down, facing away so he couldn’t see Dwar. 

Hoarmurath went over to Dwar and tried to wipe the blood off his face. 

“I didn’t hear. What exactly did you say to him?” Hoarmurath asked Dwar.

“I forget my exact words, but I told our Chief I noticed how he would do any amount of fawning and groveling, if he thought it would buy favor with his Nibs. That’s why he’s the Favorite.

Or it might be because they have very similar personalities, thought Khamûl.

“That’s right, Capt’n. You may have turned your back at me, but I know you’re listening.” shouted Dwar.

Angmar was holding his right hand as though it hurt. The knuckles were split, and he couldn’t close his fist all the way.

“In fact, he’s such a servile little toad-eater, if our Master asked him to, he’d drop to his knees and lick the dust from his boots. And then thank him for the privilege.” said Dwar.

Khamûl glanced at Angmar, and was surprised that he didn’t react. 

Khamûl leaned over and whispered,

“Well, would you?” 

“Yeah, probably.” They both laughed.

At that moment, something crashed through the bushes. Khamûl looked up and saw Ren burst into the campsite, out of breath, with leaves in his hair.

“I saw a fire at the Rangers’ campsite. Someone’s here!” he said.

 

The Attack

They assembled at the lip of the dell. They would have to brave the bonfire and the torches to get to the halflings. Angmar advanced toward the Bearer, with Khamûl and Hoarmurath following a step behind. Dwar and Ren started to follow, but Angmar motioned them back. 

Then the halflings drew their swords. Khamûl recoiled. These weren’t ordinary steel blades, they were deadly poison, made by the Men of the West to use against Mordor. Khamûl froze. He was looking at one of the few things in Arda that could kill him.

He studied the poisonous blades, wondering how to get past them. He sensed the presence of the Ring. It drew him forward.

Then the Bearer put it on. Angmar darted forward, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The Bearer swung his sword at Angmar, who jumped back.

“A Elbereth, Gilthoniel!”

In blind and mindless terror, they fled.

 

Seriously Rattled

Angmar stared mutely at the slash on his cloak. He was seriously rattled. They all knew the Dúnedain blade could have killed him. And if the halflings were in league with the High Elves … 

“You stabbed him in the shoulder. Why not the heart?” Khamûl asked neutrally. 

Angmar botched the attack, and they both knew it.

“I meant to, but I had a poor grip on my dagger, and it twisted in my hand.” He felt for it on his belt. “My dagger! I lost the dagger Mairon made for me.”

Khamûl had never gotten used to Angmar’s habit of calling their Master by his given name. It sounded overly familiar, as though Angmar was his servant and friend both.

Khamûl started heading toward the horses.

“We still have a chance to catch up with them. Shall we go?” asked Khamûl.

“You go. I need some time to think and regroup.”

Khamûl wondered if, between being injured by the Grey Wizard a few days ago and his near-death experience just now, Angmar had lost his nerve. 

“What I don’t get is, why wasn’t the Ranger the Bearer? He was a great power himself. He could easily have taken it from that small, weak creature. Why didn’t he?” said Angmar.

“If we don’t give chase right away, we’ll lose the scent.” Khamûl urged.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll pick it up again later.” said Angmar.

Khamûl felt anger rising within him like a living thing. His mouth took on a life of its own.

“It doesn’t matter? Why not? I’ll tell you why not.”

Khamûl heard himself shouting, but he couldn’t stop.

“If we do find it and bring it back to him, Sauron will sweep his enemies into the sea, and then, just as quickly, he’ll find some way to (expletive) it up. Just like last time. His greatest victories always end in defeat and ruin. It’s a pattern with him. We all know it. He’s the only one who’s too dense to see it.”

Angmar stared at him blankly. 

Khamûl realized what he’d just said, and to whom. The Witch King was intensely loyal to Sauron. Khamûl’s hand flew to his mouth.

“I didn’t mean .. You know I don’t really …”

He thought Angmar would strike him, but he just looked tired.

“Look, just don’t say that in front of the others, okay?”


	17. Chapter 17 - The Last Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nazgul guard the Last Bridge to prevent the Ring from crossing, until Glorfindel chases them away.

Chapter 17 - The Last Bridge  
The River Gwathló, Oct 11

 

Guarding the Bridge

“The thing is, I don’t even understand why the Witch King is our Master’s favorite.” 

Dwar was speaking carefully because of his injured lip. Five days should have been long enough for it to heal. But like all undead, he healed more slowly than the living.

“For one thing, he’s a Númenorian. They’re the enemy, the cause of every humiliating defeat our Master has ever suffered. Why would our Master even want to associate with them?” 

Khamûl was only half-listening. Ren wasn’t listening at all. As usual, he was far away, lost in his own thoughts. His lips moved, as if in prayer. 

“.… yet, in the dark places, there is great beauty …” 

Before he took the ring, Ren lost his entire family to a plague. For as long as Khamûl had known him, he’d been trapped in a complicated grief. It ebbed and flowed, but it never really got any better. 

They were watching the Last Bridge before Imladris. They could not let the Ring get any closer to the Elvish stronghold, or it could be lost to them forever. This bridge was the only way for the Bearer to reach it, so they were not going to budge until Angmar and Hoarmurath relieved them.

“And another thing. The Witch King was born into the royal family of the highest civilization Arda has ever known. Our Master is from a small village, the son of a blacksmith.”

Yes, Valimar is a small village, thought Khamûl. It’s also the capital of Valinor.

“They have little in common.”

Other than intelligence, personality, and ambition.

“You’ve heard our Master tell the story about the first time he saw Armenelos. He thought, ‘I am such a hayseed.’”

Which would have been the least of his problems. He was being paraded through the streets in chains.

“Angmar, on the other hand, was born in Armenelos, the capital of Númenor. It doesn’t get more sophisticated than that.

“Now, I’m just a simple country squire from a small fishing village. Of all the swells in Mordor, the only ones who aren’t nobility are our Master and myself. When I first met him, I thought it would be a bond between us.

“But I noticed how he’d watch the Witch King and imitate the way he picked up a fork. Or repeat a phrase, trying to pronounce it the same way the Witch King does. He dresses in the Númenorian fashion, too. He didn’t used to, when I first met him. Why would he want to be something he isn’t?” asked Dwar.

“He’s a chameleon. He wins people’s trust by imitating them. Many of the nobles in Mordor are Númenorian. To win them over, he has to be one too.” said Ren. 

“But I still don’t …”

Khamûl’s head snapped up. There was something coming. He heard hoof beats coming from the east, the direction of Imladris. Khamûl could make out the profile of a horse and rider. 

“It’s a Noldo. We can take him on.” said Ren.

They drew their swords and closed ranks, facing the rider. But then Khamûl recognized him. When they were forced from Dol Guldur, Khamûl saw his face among the attackers. 

He was already turning Kestrel around.

“No. He’s on the White Council. He’s a great lord, and he can kill us. Run!”

 

Seeking Cover

The Elf Lord was a great power in his own right. He pursued them westward down the road like a wolf running down a herd of deer. Kestrel’s sides were lathered, and Khamûl was seriously afraid he would drop dead from exhaustion. And when the Noldo caught them? They were no match for him. 

He made a decision. There was a bend in the road just ahead that would hide them from sight for a minute at most, but it was enough. 

“Split up! Go into the woods!”

They each dived off the road into a separate thicket or copse. The Elf Lord on his great white horse thundered by without slowing.

We got away! 

And then he remembered, Angmar and Hoarmurath are still back there. 

 

Back at the Bridge

They hid for several days, until they were sure the Noldor were gone. They emerged from the woods and traveled east to resume their guard on the Last Bridge. 

Khamûl heard hoof beats on the road behind them. He was about to give the order to scatter when Angmar called him. He slowed and waited for him to catch up.

“Did you run into the Elf?”

“I did. We left the road and went south through the woods. We hid ourselves until I couldn’t feel his presence anymore.”

They rode hard until they reached the Last Bridge. As they approached, Angmar stiffened.

“It was here.” Angmar said.

Khamûl couldn’t tell. He dismounted, walked into the center of the bridge, and knelt there. Be quiet, be still, and listen.

“I feel it.” he said.

The others joined him on the bridge, but it had been long enough that only Angmar and Khamûl could sense its presence.

“It’s moving east. It’s pulling away from us.” said Angmar.

They crossed the bridge and spent the rest of the day searching the road east of the bridge, but none of them felt its presence again.

 

Nightmare

The Ring was still lost. After they crossed the bridge, even Angmar hadn’t sensed it again.

What if the Bearer doubled back, heading for Lindon rather than Imladris? From the Grey Havens, an Elven ship could take them all the way to Valinor. He started to say something to Angmar, but decided not to. 

The five of them left the road during the brightest part of the day and hid themselves in the shadows of a thick growth of trees. 

Khamûl stood watch while the others slept. He heard Angmar moving restlessly, then cry out in a nightmare. Khamûl knew how shaken he was by the Grey Wizard and the poisoned blade. He leaned over to wake him, and heard him say, 

“.. I failed you. .. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t please don’t ... NO! ”

And I thought the Grey Wizard scared him.

 

Catching the Scent

“There it is!”

Angmar stood in the stirrups, a look of wonder on his face. More than a week after they lost the scent, they caught it again.

Khamûl felt it too.

Angmar called to the other four who were chasing the Grey Wizard. Then he spurred Twilight to a gallop and thundered eastward as if his life depended on it. The others labored to keep up.


	18. Chapter 18 - The Ford at Bruinen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khamul's water phobia is raised to a whole new level.

Chapter 18 - The Ford at Bruinen  
West if Imladris, Oct 20

The Chase

“Get them!” Angmar shouted. They were already riding hard, but they dug deep and rode harder.

The other four joined them from the left, Uvatha leading, Akhorahil bringing up the rear. 

Uvatha gained on the Elf Lord, closed the distance, almost close enough to touch. He stretched out his arm, falling just short. 

Khamûl marveled at his courage. This was the Elf Lord who drove Khamûl away from the Last Bridge. 

 

Almost Within Reach

It was here. Khamûl felt it. He was drawn to it.

It was about to cross the river into the Elvish stronghold, and if that happened, it would be lost to them. Sauron had never breached any of the Elvish strongholds, Lindon, Lothlorian, or Imladris, not even at the height of his power.

This was the moment for great courage, born of desperation. The Ford of Bruinen lay just ahead. He was about to cross it, and the others would follow his example. 

Then they would ride into a greater danger. As mighty as any wizard, the Elf Lord had the power to kill them. So be it. Ride him down anyway. Seize the Ring, or die trying. While he’s distracted with me, another may get through. Now is the time for courage.

He spurred Kestrel and whipped him with the reins. Kestrel shot forward. This burst of speed can’t last long, make it count.

The Elf Lord crossed the Ford.

When they reached the edge of the stream, the others held back, but Angmar spurred Twilight into the water. 

“Follow me.” Angmar commanded them. 

Khamûl looked at the water with loathing. Running water, the worst kind. It filled his senses, rushing over stones, kicking up a spray. The only way through it is through it, he thought, trying to control his fear. 

He squeezed Kestrel’s sides to make him step forward. He didn’t look down. The horse’s forward motion at odds with the water’s sideways motion could cause him to lose his balance and fall over. 

He kept his eyes on the opposite bank, on the Bearer, his prey. Arms out, heel to toe, heel to toe. It’s only six inches deep, nine at the most. He could do it. He was doing it. The others followed his lead, emboldened by his example. 

 

A Thundering Roar

Then Kestrel was bumped from behind, hard enough to make him stumble. Khamûl’s head snapped around. All of the horses behind him were stampeding, forcing him into the middle of the stream. Something was wrong.

He felt the current tugging at the toe of his boot. Kestrel struggled against the force of the water, but regained his footing. The water was rising fast. Icy water flowed in the top of his boots and weighted down his cloak. He fought to stay in the saddle. 

A thundering roar made him look upstream. He didn’t understand at first what he was seeing. It looked like a wall of water, an enormous breaking wave bearing down on them.

The icy water hit him seconds later, tons of it, moving at enormous speed. Kestrel stumbled and fell, and Khamûl fell with him. He gasped, and his lungs filled with water. I have to reach the surface. It was his last conscious thought.


End file.
